


Inhale: Main

by TanukiKyle



Series: Inhale [2]
Category: Naruto
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-07-31
Updated: 2013-07-31
Packaged: 2017-12-22 00:49:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,776
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/906941
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TanukiKyle/pseuds/TanukiKyle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fantasy Naruto AU.<br/>And Naruto punches the human in the face for daring to invade his forest, and the human punches back. They stare each other down for a second, then attack.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Inhale: Main

reath but not breath.

He didn't remember the beginning. He just…was.

Like a child suddenly developing self-awareness, he found himself awake.

He knew where he was. But only the indirect way that a fish knows which way to swim, a horse how to run, a bee how to collect honey. He examined himself, first. Long, strange limbs, skin like a dolphin, no fur or fat to keep him warm. Except for a crop of bright blonde on his head. Even that was strange. Fine, silky, like a spider web. He pulled at a strand, and yelped. It appeared it was indeed fur….albeit of a strange kind. There was a slight fuzz of this fur in other places too, but he had no interest in that – he knew without thinking it was down ,like a baby duck – for he was young. He flexed his hands – because they weren't paws, no. His feet were tough on the bottom, but overall he wasn't strong. Running these strange, sensitive appendages over his face and body, he found other strange things. He seemed to have no forms of defense. Teeth, sharp yes, but not that sharp. Nails rather than claws.

He would be nimble instead. He discovered that in the first few days. He was nimble. Not yet fast, but flexible, his body able to contort easily. It was a few days later when he met the wolf. So far, he had not seen one. It wasn't that they were avoiding each other. Their territories just didn't overlap. Kyuubi – for after a while he decided he needed something to call himself, like a wolf or a bird, he would be a Kyuubi – stayed close to his cave, venturing out for fruit or prey occasionally. The wolves roamed, but were yet to find him.

But today Kyuubi went further out. There was a spring near his cave, but he needed a river or lake – he was beginning to smell of Kyuubi-scent, and that wasn't good. His prey were smart and cunning, usually faster and stronger than him – he needed to a surprise them, and if his smell was strong, that wouldn't be possible.

The first thing Kyuubi considered was escape – this was soon dismissed. The wolf was faster. Stronger. Superior. He could climb a tree, but he was in a clearing by the side of a river – the nearest tree was some distance away. He knew without being told he would not make it. Attacking didn't cross his mind – he knew he could not win. So finally, he faced the wolf. Amber eyes stared at him – he knew not the colour of his own, because he had yet to find a smooth surface – even the river was churning, a maelstrom of water.

Wolf but not wolf.

He didn't know where the words came from, nor the instinct. But he rolled over onto his back, stretching out his throat, a low, submissive whine emanating from him. He twitched his strange, shell-like ears, and closed his eyes. He had done wrong. This was another pack. The wolf padded over, slowly, then lightning-fast clenched his teeth round Kyuubi's neck. Kyuubi did nothing, letting himself be limp. He was not stupid enough to challenge this wolf. He was not Alpha – but he was strong. The wolf retracted his powerful jaws, and nudged the wolf-but-not-wolf. Kyuubi rose to his feet, but kept low, in a crouch, eyes flicking momentarily to the wolf, and then away, appropriate to show respect to a superior. The wolf spoke, a low yip-yowl of agitation combined with a tail-flick. Not knowing how he knew, Kyuubi understood. Kyuubi was a pup, not yet full-grown, and he was alone. He should have pack, but had not. He gave a submissive whine, and a few small postures, that expressed his desire for pack, but knowing that it was not his decision to make.

The wolf seemed to make a decision. Nipping the strange one gently, he pushed him towards the den. It was a risk, but the Alpha could run him off if it proved to be the wrong one.

He spent a long time with the wolves, though it was of no concept to him. He knew the days and seasons, but the idea of time was not of matter. The wolves grew prosperous with the strange pup among them. He learned fast, and improved quicker. He was eager to prove his worth to the pack, because they were his pack, his blood, his everything. Over time, he changed. His teeth grew sharper, stronger, nails became claws, and he became strong. But all things change, all things die. Kyuubi knew he had to leave.

He did not know why or how. But he knew. There had been many Alpha's since he became pack, but he knew. He was no longer pack. Sometimes a young wolf would leave to start his own pack – but this was different. He knew without knowing why. He was no longer wolf but not wolf. He was not wolf.

But before he went, he would do something. He padded to the Alpha's den, listening for any growling that would suggest he was not welcome. There was none, instead a agitated yip, signifying he was welcome if he would just hurry up. There was a hunt soon, and the new Alpha needed to go. Kyuubi would make this quick. He went in, and the Alpha looked. Kyuubi knew many ways to express himself, but this was beyond him – it was not unnatural, but it was beyond him. But the Alpha understood. He had known the strange wolf would leave. It was as clear as the moon at dark. He snuffle-licked the pup. For he was still a pup, if further grown than before. The strange one gave an agitated whine. The Alpha barked, and Kyuubi understood. This was his pack no longer.

They howled together, and all over the forest, the pack abandoned what they were doing to join in. Wobbly howls from pups, a fading strength from the old wolves, a broken song from the wolf no longer. As the last songs faded from the territory, Kyuubi was gone.

Breath but not Breath.

The wolf scent faded quickly. He did not hunt – it seemed wrong somehow, though he could not say why. He feasted on plants instead, a far cry from the meat and fish diet of the wolves. He was far from the territory now, that had been in the deep of the forest. Meadows rolled across the horizon, and beyond them, strange, blurry shapes, like giant teeth of the earth. Mountains. Kyuubi loped across the grass, in that strange, tireless wolf-lope. At first, he thought they were prey, the strange large creatures. But as he came closer, he knew.

Horse but not horse.

This was his new pack. His herd. It was very different than the wolves. He had to say to them he wanted to be herd. Nickering softly, he approached – no longer in the tireless lope of the once-pack, but in the strange manner that a nervous foal approached something new. Large heads bumped at him, breathing in his nature. He did not breathe back – he was not yet there. Two foals nickered at him, and without thinking, he nickered back, a simple share of the joy of a hoofmate. They came up, and he breathed back. His position cemented in the herd, they began to run. He could not keep up, at first. He stumbled between wolf and horse. The foals looked at him oddly, dropping back and nudging him into the correct gallop. He ran with the herd. The foals grew, matured, bore foals of their own. Their hoofmate grew, but he was still foal.

He was strong now. Fast. He fed as the horses fed. He played with the foals. But it was wrong. There would be no howling this time, but breathing, the in and out of powerful lungs, as the herd gathered, saying goodbye.

He did not know where he was going. Or more accurately, he did not think about it. He galloped, then loped. In this in-between time he was neither wolf nor horse, nor what he was before. He was a Kyuubi. He hunted some days, but it was difficult – wolves hunted in packs, and he was solitary. He grazed others, but that too was difficult – the grass became sparser as he moved towards the mountains.

But it was the strange white stuff that gave him pause. He was unaware of the cold – which was strange, he mused, because he should be cold. He had no fat or fur, yet he was not cold. In fact, he was warm, maybe even hot. The snow felt like the woods to the wolves, the meadows to the horses. But somehow he knew that this time it would not be a herd, a pack. No. As he turned his head to the slitted eyes of the snow-cat, he knew that this would be between a small group at most.

Cat but not cat.

He did not spend as much time with the cat. Well, to him at least. When the female who had taken him in died in an avalanche, he raised the kits as best he could – they were almost raised anyway, but he passed on his skills. When the youngest one died, he did not mourn. He did not bury the kit, or even take her to her mother. It was the cycle of life. But still he knew he had to go on.

Kyuubi could not change his form. He could not grow wings. But all the same he was drawn to the eagles, the mighty cliffs by the sea. He spent a time there. Longer than the cats. Shorter than the horses. He could not fly with them. Not physically. But as the chicks flew, he flew with them. He could not explain how he flew. But he flew.

When they came home, he was gone.

Bird but not bird.

The idea of dying was not foreign to him. He had seen many die. Prey. Pack. Herd. Cubs. Mother. Wingmate. He had never feared it, before. But as he twisted in the currents of the sea, drawn with that inexplicable need that made him move on, he feared it. He was lost. He couldn't breathe. He recognized nothing, knew nothing – even his everpresent warmth felt strange, unnatural. So when a whiskered face pushed at him, he would not be ashamed to admit he cried. Salty tears joined the salty ocean, as the seal pushed at the pup.

He stayed with the seals longer than he had stayed with any others. Maybe because the sea was new. Maybe because it was different – maybe because the seals were like the wolf pack of the water. All the same, he stayed. His lungs grew strong, his eyes resistant to the salt of the sea. His body, tough and muscled from from the land, thin and wiry from the peaks, grew sleek and fat in the sea. This time it was the seals that moved on. Kyuubi had felt no longing to move from where he was. But then, when the seals left and he tried to leave with them, he realized the longing was the place, not the seals any longer.

Seal but not seal.

Whale but not whale.

Dolphin but not dolphin.

It was many waves later when he returned to the land. It had changed in his absence. There were new creatures, and old ones had gone.

Insect but not Insect.

Fox but not Fox.

Rabbit but not Rabbit.

Ox but not Ox.

Bear but not Bear.

Monkey but not Monkey.

Snake but not Snake.

Many yet one.

Breath but not Breath.

Kyuubi had travelled many places, over the years. He did not revisit his places, usually. The longing did not let him. But now the longing had gone, instead replaced by something else. Kyuubi had feared little, over the years – but this…he feared this. The longing was a gentle pull, sometimes a tug when he took too long, but this was grabbing, clawing, as much pain as when a bear had slashed him, when a scorpion stung him. This was torture. And he was breaking the unnamed rule – he was going back, and he wasn't stopping. He passed many things, strange things, old things, new things.

He swam over seas. He climbed over cliffs. He ran through snow and sleet and rain and sun. But as he broke through the meadows that led to his forest – where had that come from, nothing was his, he was theirs, but the forest was him, is his – the clawing increased, tearing, biting ripping, but he was going the right way, he knew, he knew, and he ran, he ran so hard into the forest. This wasn't any of him. Not lope nor shamble nor gallop nor sprint – this was panic, pure unadulterated panic that led him to his home.

When he got to his place, his place where he had found himself all those centuries ago, he screamed.

Death had never bothered him.

But this was not death.

This was worse.

It was him, but not him.

A Kyuubi….sort of.

Many creatures came in different colours. Many varied in shade – but they were similar. This was not. It was him, but not. His skin was brown, bronzed, tough. His hair was tussled by the sun into a bright, glorious yellow that he had found was difficult to find anywhere else. His eyes, for he had finally found their colour in a reflective glacier, were a strange, strange blue.

This creature was neither.

Pale, sickly. Brown hair and something else – two red triangles on its – no. His, cheeks. Eyes were glazed.

The Kyuubi was dying.

He had never cursed death. He had never cursed life either, for making him alone when others had many.

He had never cried, never needed to.

But as the baby died before him, he sobbed and sobbed and sobbed.

He clutched the child to him, singing a broken melody that he had never learned, never even heard, but somehow knew was right. The child would not die. Could not die. But if he did, he needed to know that Kyuubi loved him as he had never loved the kits and cubs and pups and chicks. The child would die loved.

If anyone had been watching, they would have seen an orangr glow eclipse the the darkness of the cave. But nobody was. So nobody saw the miracle, as an abandoned, sacrificed child, who had barely had the strength to breathe when born cried out, eyes snapping open with a unnatural fervor to live.

Breath but not Breath.

The tugging was there, still. But it was tugging now – not clawing. Looking at the baby, he assessed there was another issue. Living though he was, the baby would need things that he could not provide – milk for example. Cradling the not-Kyuubi, he hummed to it softly as he padded through the forest. He had a plan. It might not work…but he could try. A she-wolf was due to pup today. He was not stupid enough to smuggle the babe in. He would be torn apart. But he still felt…odd. The tugging, he now understood, was a force. A power. He could not control it, no. But he could…suggest it. Guide it as it guided him.

As the wolf pupped, he was there. Normally nobody would be near a mother. This was different. The last pup was stillborn. Pure white. The mother nosed at him, but soon gave up. She had other, healthy pups to look after, to clean the birth from them. As she did so, he approached. She growled, but knew he was pack. He picked up the still born, the same blue light flickering across his bronzed skin. This was not as last time, this was not a gift, this was a binding. The wolf to the child, the child to the wolf.

Inuzuka.

He didn't know where this knowledge came from. But it was there all the same.

It was a long while before it occurred to them that Inuzuka must have a mother. Because whilst Kyuubi appeared as self-sufficient, Inuzuka was barely breathing on his own. It was a while longer before it occurred to them that if there was one…there could be many. And so, despite Inuzuka's misgivings, the hunt began. At first, they searched for a Inuzuka-scent – but that soon proved a mistake, because that led them to the wolves. Then they tried Kyuubi-scent, but that didn't lead them anywhere conclusive.

Kyuubi growled loudly. Inuzuka laughed. Flicking his ears he pounced his guardian. They rolled around, nipping and snarling, playfully asserting their strength. This tussle continued until Inuzuka growled. It wasn't a play-growl, or a warning to stop playing rough – this was a warning growl of a different kind.

The trio stiffened instantly, remaining perfectly still until Kyuubi felt a tug. Inuzuka never felt the tugs. He had tried to explain them to Inuzuka once, but Inuzuka had been woefully ignorant, and Kyuubi had quickly given up. Inuzuka had simply given him a look, and he understood that the tugs were his alone, like eye colour and hair. It made him sad, a little, because for all that Inuzuka was an almost-Kyuubi, it was another way he was not.

And then they were running. And there was a child like Inuzuka but different, older – he was pale, too pale, with brown hair again, but the overwhelming thing he noticed was none of this, because he was covered in blood and he was dying. Inuzuka threw up. Kyuubi ran. Even if Inuzuka had the mind to follow, he couldn't have. This was that strength that he could not match. The toddler in his arms, he gave in fully to the tug. It led him to insects this time. If he had been in the right mind, he would have questioned, but he wasn't.

Aburame.

And so the pack grew. It was a little strange, being both wolf and bug, but he wasn't going to complain. Because this was family. Aburame grew quicker than Kiba – it was not even two winters before he was the same physical as them. Had Kyuubi been normal, he would have known this was wrong. But when was he normal?

But he was still clever. Aburame-scent now would lead them to the bugs. But the scent from before was still ingrained into his memory, and it was this scent the quartet (technically more, but Kyuubi was not going to count the bugs because as far as he was concerned, numbers did not go high enough) were following.

And so began the village. Okay, so when they first found the people, (after much listening, they discerned that they called themselves men, but then the girl ones were both men and women, which was kind of silly) it was less of a village and more of a few tents. But they were so feeble, so the trio left them gifts of food and hides and things that they seemed to need. Each one had a little stone placed on top, delicately carved with a swirl. Kyuubi's calling card.

And so legends of the 'blessed forest' grew, and so did the village. From tents to huts, from huts to houses. Kyuubi saved three more children who were dying. The boy who ran like horses, strong and strange. The girl who flight-saw with the owls, pale and studious. The boy who was one with the trees, wood in his very soul.

But it was the sixth that would spell disaster. Kyuubi usually only took babies. Toddlers at most. They did not remember before, especially with the emotion of the bonding, the wonder of a new world. And the village showed no sign of noticing that sometimes when they saw the sunshine-headed forest spirit, he had children with him.

But then, they weren't in the village, only visitors. They didn't hear the hushed fireside tales, that spoke of the forest spirit who saved souls of young children, who played with their ghosts and made them safe, picked up those who the village could not save.

For one mother, a fireside tale was better than the reality. Her son was dying, slowly, slowly dying. Poisoned by his own blood. And so, despite protests, despite warnings, despite everything, she wandered into the wood, in search of the sunshine-headed spirit who could save her son.

It had been days. The woman was tired, her son limp in her arms. Her eyes were heavy, her tread more so. But she kept going.

Kyuubi had been aware of her for all of that time. He knew that the boy was her cub, and she wanted to fix him. Like the wolves would mourn a cub by howling, or the birds would sit on a egg longer than they should in the hope it would hatch. He also knew that he could fix him. But the tug wasn't there…and people had to die, just like everything else.

He had spent time considering that. But as the woman fell to the forest floor, head cracking against a root, he slunk into view. She was dying. He couldn't save her…but if she had spent her last moments trying to save her son….so he could do that, right?

And so downfall came to play.

Uchiha Madara.

He had more of Kyuubi than any of the others. The poison was in his blood, so Kyuubi gave him his blood to counteract it. But his eyes were red, his movements strange and sharp. And he had two names. That was wrong too. His name was Uchiha – Kyuubi had told him….only he said his name was Madara.

And Kyuubi frowned, flicking his ears, but allowed it, because he felt closer to him.

If only, if only.

Some time later the boy-who-is-tree disappears. Kyuubi doesn't notice at first – they all wander round the forest, the forest is large. But then Inuzuka vanishes too and Kyuubi's heart spasms.

He guards his young now like a fierce mother, and yet still they slip through the cracks.

Eventually only Uchiha is left.

Only he yells in his face that's he's Madara and Kyuubi is burning, golden blood pouring from him and his whole world is pain and rage and fire and the last thing he remembers is one of those swirled stones and he pours his whole self into it in the hopes that one day he'll be back.


End file.
